The Simple Child asks, “Don’t we have a dishwasher for a reason?”
For Passover, Jews celebrate the exodus from Egypt. We were slaves under Egyptian rule, liberated by Moses’ big stick between his legs and the staff in his hands. Every year in my mother’s home, we raise our glasses together and toast to freedom. But a few things pissed me off this year.
On the first day of Passover, I received a letter from a local church asking for my donations and membership. I got a question for you, church: When you started gathering addresses for your mass (no pun) mailing, did you not see that my name ends in ‘witz’? Unless you’ve been living under an anti-semetic cave for the past 30 years, you should know that such a name is the least likely to give you donations for anything non-Jewish… unless it’s a Mercedes-Benz fundraiser.
The Baby Question
“When are you having a baby?” was the most common Passover question I got this year. What do these people want from me? Do they want the truth?… Well here it is: Just like Moses parted the Red Sea and let his people through, when my wife and I are ready I will use my “staff” to part her “sea” and let my “people” through. Scholars call this process ‘sex’ and it leads to reproduction. When we do it is none of your business.
Ever since I moved half an hour away from my mother’s dungeon, I’ve escaped her enslaving chores on a daily basis. But a Jewish son can never escape his mother’s dictatorship. You would think that when I visit her home today I would be considered a guest, but nothing has changed. When I come over, it’s as if she’s compiled a whole list of chores for every day that I was gone. She unleashes these chores onto me like a bullwhip.
It was nice to finally have a conversation with them that didn’t consist of a request, such as, “Can you come over and paint the house,” or , “Will you drive 25 miles from your house to ours and remind us how to turn on the DVD player?” There was none of that. All they wanted from me was to come over and have a good time… so I thought.
Passover is about the liberation of the holy people, except for one particular sect. My mother, the Hitler of dishwashing, reminded me once again why Jewish sons have yet to be liberated. We are still slaves of our mothers.